Turnabout
by zarabithia
Summary: Dawn and Angel have an agreement
1. Dawn's POV

**Turnabout  
****Rating**: A STRONG PG-13, with mentions of sex. None is graphic, though, and the whole fic is much less strong than anything we've ever seen on either Buffy or Angel.  
**Disclaimer**: Everyone associated with the Buffyverse is owned by Joss Whedon, et al. In other words, not me. Whedon et al are also the ones profiting from the Buffyverse. In other words, not me again.  
**Pairings**: Dawn/Angel. Mentions Dawn/Spike and Buffy/Angel and Buffy/Spike.  
**Summary**: Dawn and Angel have an agreement.

**A/N:** This fic takes place some time in the future. No time is actually specified, but it's well after Dawn is a "consenting adult." If that even applies to balls of energy that take human form. Again, thanks to Joanna for the beta.

* * *

He is, of course, utterly beautiful. Oh, there's no denying that. In fact, he may be more beautiful than the man I actually love, in the classic sense. His hair's a little more perfect, his muscles a little more bulging, his fingers a little longer. . . . but, regardless of all those little things that are better, I don't love Angel. 

That doesn't prevent him from coming to my bed. Well, I suppose I shouldn't phrase it like that. It makes it sound like I don't play an active role in this. . . whatever this _is._ And, to be honest, I don't know what to call it. For a long while, I classified it under the "Meaningless Sex" category, but that's not exactly true. Our relationship is full of "meaning," it's just that the said meaning is exceedingly complicated. There's even some affection, I suppose.

No, I don't have to "suppose." I like Angel. I care for him even. The longer I know him, the easier it is to care for him. There's so much more to him than the Hero Upon the Pedestal that Buffy placed him on. I sometimes wonder if Buffy ever knew Goofy Angel that likes the Three Stooges, or Sentimental Angel that listens to Barry Manilow, or Conflicted Angel that still prays to the very same rosary that would burn him.

I really don't think she knows any of them. She knew Moonstruck With Love Angel, and Tortured Angel, but never really delved deep enough into Angel's character to actually _know_ him. Sometimes I believe that you can't really love someone if you don't know them. But then I think of my sister, and how strongly she felt. . . still _feels_ about Angel. _That _has to be _love, _doesn't it? Because the relationship they had was single handedly responsible for shaping how Buffy feels about any and all other relationships she's ever had with a member of the male gender, including Spike.

Angel never counted on that as an outcome. He truly expected, in his wonderfully sweet but shamefully naïve fashion, that Buffy would find utter happiness with some Joe Schmo normal guy. I've tried to picture that, on occasion. Buffy with a shoe salesman from Utah. . . Buffy with a teacher from Georgia. . . Buffy with a doctor from Pennsylvania.

Nope, the mental images aren't readily forthcoming. The closest I can get is Buffy with a psychology TA from Iowa, and we all know how well that turned out. Given what Buffy's told me, I can be pretty certain that Riley was far from what Angel had in mind when he left Buffy's life. But then, we can't always finish what we start, can we? Angel certainly couldn't.

Which is why he's lying next to me now, completely nude and still, and I lie next to him, no way near as still with the sheet draped across my skin. Sometimes, when he is not quite as anguished as he is tonight, he teases me about my insistent "modesty." Given the circumstances, I suppose it is humorous.

I'm screwing my sister's soulmate because _she's _screwing the man I love. Why bother with covering up?

Buffy doesn't know, of course, and neither does Spike. I know how Buffy would feel, because I felt it the moment I first saw Buffy and Spike together. When the man you love with all your heart chooses to be with your sister. . . Not that Angel "chose" me anymore than I chose him.

Oh, no. I want Spike. Angel wants Buffy. It's that simple, and those two things are never going to change.

On the other hand, Spike wants Buffy. Buffy wants Spike.

Thus, the solution is obvious. Spike and Buffy are together, as are Angel and me. Well, maybe it's more convoluted than obvious, but still. . .

It's the only way, really. If either Angel or I sought the comfort of others, we'd wind up hurting them. That's kind of the inevitable path when you use someone. This way, though, Angel and I are using each other. No strings, no heartache. Or, at least, no additional heartache. Nobody gets hurt.

In fact, this is probably the safest sex Angel can ever have. I'm a living reminder of everything he'll never have. I think it's safe to say that his "curse" isn't going to be a factor anytime soon. "Perfect happiness" is a bit beyond his grasp. Of course, it's a bit beyond mine, too.

* * *

The End 

A/N, II: I'm contemplating a second chapter from Angel's POV, if there's any interest in this one.


	2. Angel's POV

**_Turnabout  
_****_Chapter 2: Angel's POV  
_****See Chapter 1 for Rating and Disclaimers**. This one is still less harsh than "Seeing Red," but it's darker than chapter 1 was. Duh! It's Angel's POV. He's all dark. Thanks to Sparky for the beta.  
**Spoilers**: Many flashbacks from AtS' "The Prodigal" as indicated by italics.

_

* * *

_

_"A layabout and a scoundrel.__ You'll never amount to anything more than that."_

I've thought a lot about my life when I was Liam over the past several years. Mostly, I've wondered just how much of Liam is left in me. I've never had to wonder about the demon. No, he's always there, always bubbling just beneath the surface, begging to take over. Of course, the soul is always justifiably horrified, and supplies plenty of guilt. But that doesn't change the fact that the demon's there.

It's harder for me to know about Liam. When I was first cursed, all those years ago, I believed that I had been given back my original soul: the soul of Liam. Hell, it'd make sense, wouldn't it? I spent nearly a full century wondering about after the gypsies gave me my soul. If there was one thing Liam was good at, it was wandering aimlessly. It's pretty much what I did with my life before I met Darla.

Of course, Liam. . . I . . . did a lot of other things as a human too. There was the drunkenness, the gambling, the lying, the fighting. . . oh, yes, and the womanizing. No, no, that's too sanitary of a term for it. Let's call it what dear old Dad did. The whoring.

_"Have you not had enough debauchery for one night?"_

It's mostly the "whoring" part that makes me think so much about my Liam days lately. Especially now. Dawn is curled up next to me in a bed that feels simultaneously too small and too big. Her precious red blanket is pulled protectively around her, and part of me wants to laugh at the sight. Given what we are doing, why feign modesty? Why play pretend with chastity? I say as much, when I lean down and kiss her.

She responds by tilting her head towards me. The purposeful action exposes her neck, and I can't control the shiver that overtakes me as the familiar scent reaches my nose. Dawn's scent. Buffy's scent.

No, no, no. I shouldn't pay attention to _that _scent. That scent that is exactly the same is the smell of their blood. It's the scent my demon craves.

So I try instead to focus on the more natural smells that even Liam could have appreciated. Nuzzling my nose close to her throat, I try instead to focus on the more natural scent of vanilla that came from her soap. That's a Buffy scent too.

_"Drinking and whoring. I smell the stink of it on you."_

My father's voice and the memory of Buffy is too much tonight, so I bury my face in her hair. Buffy's hair always matched her soap: pure vanilla cleanness. On the other hand, Dawn's hair gives off a distinctly citrus aroma. Citrus and vanilla: that's my Dawn.

On the nights we spend together, she cuts back on the citrus. I don't know how, exactly. Maybe she washes her hair with a different shampoo, or just skips washing it altogether that night. But regardless, I know why she does it. She's allowing me to keep up the beautiful, painful façade. It's for me.

I don't know why. I certainly don't – and can't - do the same for her. I don't smell like the one she wants. Well, to another vampire I would. I am, after all, Spike's grandsire. But since Dawn's not a vampire, that's kind of irrelevant. She can't smell the scent of the Aurelius line. All she can smell is the lack of Spike's characteristic leather and tobacco scent – a scent I don't have.

I gave up trying to figure out what Dawn sees in Spike long ago. That path only led me to question what _Buffy _saw in Captain Peroxide. That's not a place I plan to visit. _  
  
_

"_Instead God gave me you. A terrible disappointment."_

I'm so sorry, Dawn. __I'm sorry I can't give you more. I'm sorry I can't give you what you try to give me. Truly I am, because you've given me so much.

And when we're entwined together, I'm thankful for Dawn's thoughtfulness. When I press my mouth next to hers, I concentrate on the sweetness of the vanilla, the familiar taste of those lips. . .those _Buffy _tasting lips. . . and I relish it with all of my soul even while my demon takes pleasure in the sweet fragrance of the _Buffy _blood pounding through her fragile veins at an increasing rate. _  
  
_

_"Anyway, everyone gets corrupted, but I find some forms of corruption are more pleasant.."._

I refuse to let myself enjoy the lingering smell of citrus until both of us have been sated. Never, never during the act itself. Because then I would be thinking of Dawn, instead of Buffy, and that would be wrong, wouldn't it?

I think it must be. Though we've moved past the stage where we call for the ones we truly want, Buffy and Spike are still the reasons why we're here.

So, I will never allow myself to enjoy the smell of citrus while we're fucking. But afterwards, I'll cherish it.

It's a good plan, with only a tiny flaw: I want her most just after she's come out of the shower, when the mixture of vanilla and citrus are the strongest. It's also when the echo of my father's words to Liam are the clearest, simplest, and truest.

_"You're a disgrace." _

I know.

* * *

**The End**

**A/N:** Aw, the reviews were sweet! Hope you liked this chapter too. Also, I'm thinking of a prequel of sorts to explain how D/A go together in the first place, or perhaps a 'crap hits the fan' sequel. Haven't decided yet.


End file.
